


Triangle

by Annabelle_W



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, POV First Person, Pining Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-04-27 12:40:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14425611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annabelle_W/pseuds/Annabelle_W
Summary: Sam thought he would be relieved when Dean and Cas finally got together, but instead he feels heartbroken.  When did he fall in love with Castiel?





	1. Dean/Cas

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Sastiel story.

Dean and Cas are pressed together in the hallway of the Bunker. Eyes closed, arms around each other, lips locked together. This is kissing for the sake of kissing. Kissing because you can't believe you can finally embrace. Kissing that may or may not lead somewhere and it really doesn't matter because you don't want to rush things. All you want to do is savor this moment, this perfect, wonderful, world-stopping moment.

Jess and I kissed like that when we first started dating.

Cas stumbles slightly, giggles, blushes. Dean steadies him. "You are adorably awkward," he murmurs, his deep voice barely more than a rumble. They are so lost in each other that neither of them notices that they have an observer. They might as well be the only two people in the whole of the universe. Make that multiverse.

Not like that is anything new. I've lost count of the number of times Dean and Cas have been so focused on each other that they forgot my existence. 

I've been expecting them to get together for years. I've been subtly encouraging them to for almost as long, playing peacemaker for their frequent arguments, pairing them together for missions, leaving them alone together as often and for as long as I can manage inconspicuously.

So, coming across the two of them finally--finally!--embracing should make me happy, proud, misty-eyed, or, at the very least, relieved. It doesn't. 

Instead, I feel shattered, broken. It's reminiscent of the day the wall in my mind was broken, bombarding me with simultaneous memories of being tortured and raped in the Cage and of my life as a soulless monster, killing innocents, betraying friends, seducing married women.

I stumble back to the library in search of the scotch Dean keeps in there.

*

Dean is whistling as he scrambles the eggs for breakfast the next morning. I didn't drink enough to be hungover--my alcohol tolerance has grown disturbingly high--but the cheerful sound grates anyway.

"Hey, Sammy," he greets me while pushing some onto a plate for me. "Listen, this probably won't come as a surprise, but . . . ."

"I know."

He pauses, curious.

"About you and Cas," I clarify.

"Yeah." He nods, biting his lip. "We, we're . . . ."

I recall that my brother has only been in one real relationship. The terminology does not come easily to him. "You're dating," I supply.

"Yeah. Something like that." His smile manages to be both dreamy and lascivious. 

A smile teases my lips. Seeing my brother so happy makes me feel happy. A second later, my smile disappears. This, right here, is the way I should have reacted last night. So why didn't I?

*

Dean's door is partway open. Checking on my brother is second nature, so I'm peering into his room before the logical part of my brain wakes up and tells me to stop--tells me that I might not like what I see.

As it is, I've raced all the way to my own room before the logical part of me has done more than blinkingly glance around. 

I've seen Dean having sex before (unfortunately). I've even seen him on the bottom (though I've never seen him with a guy--I'm not convinced he's been with one before). It's a disturbing but familiar sight.

It's not the cause of the maelstrom of emotions swirling through me.

That would be my brief glimpse of Castiel's back. Pale skin, muscles rippling with each thrust, gently rounded bottom, tousled black hair.

That image is all I see, all I can focus on.

I want to run my fingers through that hair. drag my nails across that back, press my lips against that neck. All while pounding into him.

No! Where did this come from? Why do I have such inappropriate, unwelcome desires? And since when?

I've always been just as attracted to men as women. I thought Cas was hot the day I met him. But I was also well aware that it was his meat-suit I found so appealing. And, anyway, it was his angelic otherworldliness that fascinated me. I seem to recall fanboying over him.

But I had quickly grown accustomed to his presence. He'd become an ally, then a friend, then my best friend, then family. I haven't reflected on the prettiness of his face in years. I haven't fallen into the guileless depths of those clear blue eyes. I haven't admired the way his trench coat billows around his trim form. I haven't caught my breath at the sound of his gravely voice.

Okay, maybe I have.

*

I'm sitting on the roof with my computer on my lap, scrolling through weird news sights in an attempt to find a case that will give me an excuse to leave the Bunker for a few days. Dean and Cas deserve some privacy and I need to get away from them for a little while. Maybe I just need to get laid. It's been awhile since I've been with anyone and longer since I've been with a guy. That's it: I'll go to a bar, get a nice guy to take me home and have a lovely experience that will unattainable men out of my head. I'm sure that my infatuation is simply the result of the fact that Castiel is the only male around me who isn't related to me. It has to be.

A plausible story pops up on my screen. Two young women found bloodless inside a room locked from the inside. Vampires, most likely. A secret entrance, possibly? This seems like just the hunt to get the image of my brother and his angel making love out of my mind. To stop wishing that it was me. Well. Actually, no. Bottoming was never really my thing--I have so little control over so much of my life that I at least want control in my recreational activities--but after a couple centuries with Lucifer, the prospect became sickeningly unappealing. Rape will do that to you. So, I don't wish I could take Dean's place. My fantasies involve Cas writhing beneath me. Usually with his wings corporeal and fluttering around me. Those huge blue eyes nearly swallowed by his expanding pupils . . . .

"Sam."

I barely avoid dropping my laptop over the edge. My coffee cup isn't so lucky. "What's up, Cas?"

He cocks his head. "I have not spent much time with you lately. I wish to remedy that."

I thank years of practice at role-playing that I am able to keep all jealousy out of my voice, when I reply, "You've been busy with Dean."

"Yes, but you are also my family. I love you as well."

I can't resist a shiver at those words, even though I know he means them in a brotherly way. "Of course," I say, "But your relationship is so new. It's natural to want to spend all your time together."

I expect adorable confusion, but the look he sends me is full of timeless wisdom, reminding me how old he really is. "Dean and I have been so close for so many years that our relationship does not feel new. We have simply added another dimension."

My brain helpfully sends me a flash of Castiel's nude back. I grimace. I have got to get this unhelpful, unasked for, frustrating lust under control.

Cas doesn't seem bothered by my lack of a response. He settles down on the edge of the roof beside me and starts expounding upon the nature of the sun and the reasoning behind its creation as the source of warmth and light for the Earth. As he talks, he tilts his head up so that the rays can bathe his handsome face in light, rendering him ethereal, so that he looks as unreachable, untouchable as he really is.

I could listen to him chatter about nature forever. I could watch him enjoy the wonders of nature forever. I would happily spend my life focused on both.

These are not the thoughts of someone interested in nothing but sex. These are also not the thoughts of a brother. (I know because I have a brother).

I should have guessed when I was reminiscing about the year we met. I had spent time with Castiel's meat-suit. I had not been at all attracted to Jimmy. Because I was already in love with Castiel.

Oh, no.

I'm in love with my brother's boyfriend.


	2. Dean

The waitress (Rose, according to her name badge) winks as she places my Cobb salad in front of me. I've been longing for a distraction from the sight across from me of Cas pressed tightly into Dean's side, so I take a second glance at her. Her blonde highlights are pulled back in a messy ponytail, allowing me the full view of a strong, but lovely, face. High cheekbones, wide mouth, brown eyes. She's slender, with just enough curves to be all woman. I sneak a look at Castiel's short black hair, blue eyes, pretty face, masculine body. Rose looks nothing like him, while still being enough my type as to be very attractive. Perfect.

One night stands aren't really my thing, but sometimes I allow myself to be picked up when the loneliness (and the desire to be touched) starts to become unbearable. The only time I ever played the seducer was when I was soulless. I remember desperately seeking to fill up the emptiness inside with physical sensations. This led to dangerous hunts and night-long sex with whatever partners I could tempt into my bed. It came as a shock when I started to evaluate my memories to realize that soulless me was a far more patient love-maker than real me could ever be. He wanted to feel something real for as long as possible; I tend to prefer wild, rough, and quick. Hours of slow love-making is an experience I want to save for someone special--someone I plan to keep for longer (much longer) than one night.

Inadvertently, my head turns toward Castiel. He's staring at me, his head cocked, his dark hair tousled, his eyes slightly narrowed. They entrap me like they have since the day I met him. Jimmy Novak was blessed with lovely blue orbs, which the addition of Cas' grace has rendered positively crystalline. They're mesmerizing. 

"Sam?" He addresses me. "Are you all right?"

My face warms. "I'm fine."

Dean cuts in. "Rose, here" he winks at her "wants to know what kind of dressing you want."

One glance at Cas and I forget all about the waitress I'm thinking of going home with. I bring out soulless me's playbook. A small smile as I lift my eyes to her face and pause for just a moment on her mouth. Demure pink lipstick. "Ranch is fine," I say as my eyes reach hers. I send my angsty, emotional, empathic self away for a moment so that I can smolder at her. My actions feel both unnatural and familiar at the same time. After all, soulless me perfected this action. But real me has never used it. Her mouth drops open slightly, her breath hitching when I allow my fingers to linger on hers for an extra moment as I take the packet of salad dressing.

I repeat the entire skit when she brings me the check, murmuring "Thank you," as my thumb gives hers a gentle caress. 

Just before we walk out the door, she sidles up to me, whispers "I get off in an hour," gifts me with a hopeful smile as she glides away.

Dean is staring at me with shock and what can't be envy.

*

A couple days after the completion of our vampire hunt (and my liaison with the waitress), I find Dean in the map room pouring himself a glass of whiskey. This makes me pause because my brother normally only drinks the hard stuff when he's depressed or stressed out and there is no reason for him to be either at the moment. After all, he has Cas. 

I pour myself a drink.

Dean leans back against the table as he takes a sip. "So, how was it with Rose the waitress?"

"Good, I guess?" I raise an eyebrow at him, wondering why he's asking about my hookup. 

"Was she soft?"

I nod.

"Did she give those breathy little moans?"

I gulp the rest of my drink to hide the fact that I'm gaping. Why would someone who gets to spend every night with sweet, gorgeous Cas care about the bedroom skills of some random waitress?

*

The television is blaring in the Dean Cave. I slip silently inside, needing to know . . . to know . . . if there is anything to know. Dean and Cas are the two people I love most in the world. I want them to be happy; I want their relationship to be white picket fence successful. My own happiness has always been secondary.

Dean and Cas are sitting on the easy chairs with a bowl of popcorn between them, watching Dumb and Dumber. I hate that movie. It's, well, dumb, but Dean loves it. He's laughing, shoving popcorn in his mouth, explaining the gags to Cas, sipping his beer, and clearly having an altogether wonderful time. 

I shift my gaze to Cas. He's nibbling on popcorn, taking an occasional sip of beer, intently studying the movie, smiling, almost grinning, at Dean, and clearly thoroughly enjoying himself.

I back silently out of the room. My brother and Cas are close as ever. I was imagining problems where none existed. I'm relieved. I really am.

*

"Bodies have been found with their hearts missing in Illinois." Now that I've resolved my concerns about the relationship between my brother and the man I had better start thinking of as my other brother, I am really ready to get back on the road. There is just too much heartache here at home.

"Werewolves?" Dean hands me a cup of coffee. I know without looking that it's fixed just the way I like it.

"Looks like."

"I'll help pack the car." Cas looks cheerful, eager. 

Dean grimaces. "Hey, Cas. Listen. Um. I haven't seen much of my brother lately. So. I want this hunt to be just him and me." He pauses. "You okay with that?"

Cas shoots me a look of confusion mixed with just a hint of hurt. "Of course. I have been meaning to visit Heaven anyway." He kisses Dean, his eyes meeting mine for a moment, before marching out of the Bunker.

*

"Sam, I don't know what to do." Dean is still covered in blood, dirt and ash from our (successful) werewolf hunt. Basically, he looks much the same as he often does. What isn't the same is the way he's gripping his beer bottle, squeezing it so tightly that I'm starting to wonder if he'll break it.

I run a hand through my hair before taking a sip of my own beer. "What about?" Though his decision not to bring Cas with us does provide some hint.

He hops onto Baby's hood. "Well . . . I . . . I didn't mean . . . It . . . It's about . . . ."

I decide to help him out. "Is there a problem with your relationship with Cas?"

"Sort of."

I climb onto the hood to sit beside him. "You seem pretty happy together." A flash of the two of them laughing in the Dean Cave dances across my memory. "And you always look like you're having fun when you're together."

He turns to me, staring straight into my eyes. "That's just it. It's fun to hang out with him. Just like it's fun to hang out with you." He takes a drink. "Only, Cas and I have more in common."

This is true. It hasn't escaped me that I've fallen for a man who resembles my brother. Freud would have a field day with that one. Dean was the only real parent I had growing up, so of course I'm subconsciously attracted to people who remind me of him. Even Jess . . . .

"He's my best friend. My brother. Other brother." Dean is morosely studying the dandelion poking determinedly out of the cracking asphalt below the car.

I think I see the problem. "So, basically, you're saying that you love but you're not in love with him?"

He smiles wryly. "It sounds so cliche, but yeah."

The heart which broke when I first saw my brother with Cas shatters anew. The pain my angel is going to suffer when he find out! "So, why? I mean, what gave you the impression that you wanted him? Like that?" 

Dean rubs some of the dust off his face. "I think I . . . well . . . ." He grimaces, then finishes in a rush: "He's almost as pretty as a girl and I wanted to see what it was like with a guy."

My jaw drops.

Dean winces. "I didn't realize that until just now!--I thought I was really interested in him." He hangs his head, patented single man tear threatening to fall. His voice is very quiet when he next speaks. "I thought that if you're attracted to someone you love, it means you're in love."

My brother is practically allergic to the L-word. He uses it extremely rarely and only when he wants his meaning to be completely clear. He's never even told me he loves me (not that he needs to). I place a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "You know what I'm going to say, right?"

He nods, sighs. "I need to tell him."

Our eyes meet, identical expressions of anguish narrowing them.


	3. Cas

It's been two months since Dean broke up with Cas. I have no idea what he said to him. They were closeted in Dean's room for an hour. When Dean came out, he informed me he was in need of the three Bs--booze, babes, bacon--so he was heading to Vegas for a week. 

Ten minutes later, Cas paused beside me on his own way out of the Bunker. "I have much to contemplate." Blue eyes shining more than usual with what I suspected were unshed tears met mine for just a moment. "I will return when . . . " he shakes his head. "I will return."

I gave him an encouraging smile that he didn't see. "I'm here if you need to talk."

He looked up, granting me another tantalizing glimpse of blue eyes. "I know." A moment later he was gone.

He hasn't called either of us and none of our friends have reported seeing him.

At least Dean seems fine. He's a little more thoughtful, considerate. And self-aware. Not only is he openly flirting with men now, but he seems to have figured out his type. Burly, light hair, southern accents. Basically, the opposite of Cas. But they remind me of someone else. My latent suspicions that Dean was in love with Benny are now confirmed. The thought makes me sad. But, at least I am certain now that Dean will recognize his true feelings next time he meets someone. He'll know if he's actually in love--and if he isn't.

*

"Hello, Dean." Cas has just walked into the kitchen where Dean and I are eating lunch (grilled cheese sandwiches). 

Dean smiles around a mouthful of cheese. "Hey, Cas."

Castiel turns to me. "Hello, Sam."

I'm unable to repress the rush of joy that hits me when his eyes meet mine. "Hi," I say, mentally willing my lips to stop trembling, my eyes to stop tearing. He was only gone for two months. I shouldn't find his presence so wonderfully overwhelming. I didn't realize how little I had been expecting him to return.

Cas moves further into the kitchen. "I was not certain you would want me to come back."

There's an audible scrape as Dean pushes back his chair so he can get to his feet. "This is your home, Cas. You . . . you're still family."

I stand up, too. "You're always welcome," I say, "You don't ever have to leave if you don't want to." I'm distantly aware that my eyes have widened into what Dean calls my puppy dog look.

Cas turns back to me. For a moment, his eyes flash a brighter, more silvery blue, smoldering with a flare of grace.

*

I'm sprawled on my bed, trying to read, but I can't focus on The Return of the King. Normally I love it. I can relate to Faramir on so many levels (only the book character though--I don't identify with the film version of him at all). Daddy issues. A simultaneous, contradictory longing to both be exactly like my warrior big brother and to pursue a scholarly life.   
Perhaps even a tendency toward reckless self-sacrifice.

But, tonight, every time I try to get lost in the story, I find myself picturing Eowyn with huge, luminous blue eyes and pale, soft-looking (if slightly chapped), full lips. Her long blonde braid shortens to tousled inky tresses. Her sword becomes an angel blade, her armor a tan trench coat. And she has long since ceased to be a she. I throw aside the book and run my hands through my hair in frustration.

"Sam."

My hands are still gripping my hair when I look up to see that object of my distraction standing in my doorway. I remove them, place them in my lap. Which makes me feel like a school girl, so I grab the nearest object (my book) and start fiddling with the cover. "Hey, Cas," I manage, "What do you need?"

He closes the door behind him before perching on my desk chair. "You said that you would be here if I needed to talk."

I nod, bringing out the encouraging smile that convinces witnesses to tell me everything they know.

For a full minute, though, he sits silently. Still, unblinking. Disconcertingly reminding me that the man in front of me is no man at all--that he isn't human. Finally, though, he speaks. "Do you remember when I told you that 'Dean and I share a more profound bond'?"

"Yes." I'm almost whispering as I suppress a shudder. I had been soulless at the time and incapable of experiencing any deep emotions. But, somehow, those words had stabbed through me, leaving me breathless with pain.

Cas looks down. "It meant more than just that, as you termed it, I liked him better than you."

I close my eyes briefly. "I thought it meant that you're in love with him." 

"It did and I was."

I look up, curious about the use of past tense.

He's playing with my pad of post-it notes, avoiding my gaze. "Angels weren't built to be alone. We have our garrisons, our friends, our charges." He smiles at me. "But some of us have a special bond with just one person. Usually, it's another angel. But sometimes it's a human. We walk into their heavens and recognize that this is the individual with whom we're meant to spend eternity." He exchanges the notepad for my favorite pen. "Sometimes we meet that human on Earth." His voice quiets so much as he admits this that I have to lean forward to hear him.

"Dean," I say. How depressing for us both to be stuck in the throes of permanent unrequited love. I should really take him out for drinks after this. Maybe it will all seem ironically amusing after several shots.

Sincere blue eyes meet mine. "Yes. I thought Dean was my bond-mate. It made so much sense that he would be." Cas shakes his head in apparent confusion. "We have such a deep connection. His companionship has altered my personality, my fate, my worldview, my very existence. I cannot imagine my life without him."

My heart breaks for my friend. This isn't fair--how could Chuck have been so thoughtless?

"But," Castiel goes on. "I wasn't devastated when he broke up with me. Which means . . . ." He squints at my quilt. "I'm no longer in love with him. But I still feel that same deep connection." His body grows completely, inhumanly still. "My life no longer makes sense."

I order my excited heart to stop beating so quickly. I still really don't have a chance. "Maybe . . . maybe you have a platonic bond."

He visibly relaxes. "I never thought of that." He stands up. "Thank you, Sam."

I get up. "I'm glad I could help." I am. I feel lighter just knowing my angel is feeling happier. An impulse has me throwing my arms around him. Instead of hugging me back stiffly as has been my experience with Cas, he snuggles against me, pressing his chest into mine. His slender body is warm and firm. His hair is tickling my cheek. His trench coat is rough against my fingers. I squeeze him tighter while closing my eyes. Reveling in the feel of the man I love in my arms.

A moment of bliss before he stirs, starts to untangle himself. I let him go, but before I can take a step back his lips are on mine. They're soft and warm and alive. I have Cas pushed up against the wall and I'm kissing back before my brain registers what is happening.

I jump backwards, bumping against my bed. "I'm sorry," I gasp.

He cocks his head. "I kissed you: why are you sorry?"

"You're confused and vulnerable. I was taking advantage." I drop heavily onto the mattress, my head in my hands.

Gentle hands remove mine, coax me to look up. "You took no advantage. I realized when I was driving around these past two months that I haven't been in love with Dean for years. I feel for him what you do. He's my brother."

"I know," I reply. "I believe you. But. You came to me in need of a friend. You don't want this." I gesture between us.

His expression is thoughtful. Eventually, he nods. "You're right about why I kissed you. I was seeking physical comfort and you had already given me emotional comfort." His posture straightens. "So, I should apologize."

I shake my head. "It's okay. You didn't realize what you were doing." I ignore the selfish pang I feel at that reality.

His expression moves from thoughtful to determined, the handsome planes of his face hardening. "I enjoyed it. So did you." He stalks towards me. "Kiss me again."

Any objections I might have dissipate as the blood in my head drains to a more intimate part of my anatomy. It's not long before Cas splayed out on my bed, gasping and moaning as I tease his nipples and caress his wings.

Wait, wings?

This is enough to pull me from my lust-induced fog. "Cas," I pant, "Your wings?"

"Yes," he replies between gulps of air. "That happens sometimes. I should have warned you."

I swallow my irrational jealousy that Dean got to experience this first. "They're beautiful." They no longer possess the full, lush plumage of which I had occasionally seen shadows, but they're still lovely. Delicate, snowy feathers fluff around powerful bone structures. They're austere, graceful, stunning. I can't resist touching them again, running one finger up and down a tiny, soft white feather. Which is no longer white.

I startle. "I didn't know they could change color."

Castiel gapes. "What?" He lifts one wing and watches open-mouthed as the feathers darken into a gorgeous shade of lapis. "But . . . . That means . . . . No wonder I'm so drawn to you." He turns his stare to me. "Our wings only change color when they're touched by the one we're meant to spend eternity with. You're my bond-mate."

Wonder and joy and peace elevate my soul as his words sink in. Castiel is mine--he was always meant to be mine. All guilt and shame and doubt are gone as I melt back into his embrace.


End file.
